


Used To

by TheDeathEcchi



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Meihem - Freeform, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7918138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDeathEcchi/pseuds/TheDeathEcchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not used to this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Used To

He's used to heat. Used to arid, dry climates and searing, blistering sunlight. Used to balmy winds and roasting ground.

He's not used to this.

He's not used to hot, plump lips shoving themselves against his own. He's not used to a sticky tongue forcing its way in, filling him with a fire so hot he's actually worried he'll burn up--but _what a way to die_ \--in the atmosphere and scatter like stardust.

He's not used to soft, red-hot hands roving around him, finally coming to roost at his waist and pull him close, with no intention of letting go. He's not used to the fiery sting of teeth biting his lip and drawing blood, nor is he used to the sickly sweet taste of copper in his mouth and having it be a _good_ thing.

He's not used to being this turned on, straining against his tattered pants, desperate and blazing and wanting and--fuck, she's so _warm_.

He's not used to a body like hers, all heat and sweet, musky smells and softness pressed against him, grinding, so enveloped with lust he can feel the air ripple.

He's not used to a voice like angels whispering 'Fuck me.' in a pleading, husky tone. He's not used to obeying, tearing away his pants and shoving himself inside her.

He's not used to the inferno of her insides.

He's not used to her nails, icicles in his sweaty back, clawing downward and leaving marks. He's not used to being unable to think strange because it just feels so damn good inside her he could stay like this forever. He's not used to feeling like he'll melt.

He's not use to her moans.

He's not used to the siren song that flows from her pink, glistening lips as she gyrates. He's not used to seeing those perfect, creamy mounds bounce in time to her movements. He's not used to burying his face in them, and it cools him down, but just barely. He's not used to her squeals of pleasure as he takes a hardened nipple into his mouth and grinds his sharp canines.

He's not used to hearing her whisper 'Harder.'

He's not used to using all of his energy. He's not used to being so exhausted but still wanting to go on because he doesn't want this moment to ever stop, ever.

He's not used to her bouncing. He's not used to the sound the bed makes as she moves up and down, up and down, each movement sending shockwaves through his body.

He's not used to her chocolate-brown doe eyes looking at him, not in exasperation or annoyance or disgust, but in love and compassion and--did they just glimmer? Actually glimmer?

He's not used to the way her hair falls loosely around her face. It's a curtain, and he's not used to not seeing that expensive, shiny hairpin keeping a bun on her pretty little head. 

He's not used to the way she tastes like peppermint. He's not used to the whimpers as he bites into her neck, where a hickey is sure to form soon. He's not used to her strength as she pins him down and stares into his amber eyes wild no pretense, no games, just the two of them and a locked room with a single bed and inhibitions laid bare.

He's not used to the anxious, giggly, excited look on her face as she says 'I'm coming.'

He's not used to whispering back, through a cheeky grin that matches her joy, 'Me, too.'

He's not used to the euphoric rush as he explodes inside her, a 'bang' far more powerful than any of his bombs, more powerful than a thousand RIP-Tires going off at once. 

He's not used to her arching her back and screaming 'Jamison!'--he's not used to her using that, either--at the top of her lungs. He's not used to her orgasm, gushing, thrashing, panting, moaning, begging for more.

He's not used to obliging.

He's not used to going for another round, then two, then three, as she screams for more.

He's not used to feeling half-dead, and being happy about it.

He's not used to her lying atop him, red-faced, sweaty, satisfied, unable to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl. He's not used to giggling back, not without the promise of an explosion following.

He's not used to her saying 'I love you.'

He's not used to the thudding in his heart, the weakness in his knees--well, knee--as her words register.

He's not used to the nagging thought that they went about this all backwards, but a destination is a destination no matter how you get there.

He's not used to whispering back 'I love you, too.'

He's not used to the feeling of total contentment that follows. He's not used to the feeling that this world, this world he despised, resented, wanted to turn into a burned-out husk...might not be so bad. Not if she was in it.

He's not used to falling asleep with a smile on his face.

He's not used to feeling a soft arm curl lovingly around his neck.

He's not used to any of these things.

But he could _get_ used to them.

Every single one.

**Author's Note:**

> If this gets noticed enough I might do one from Mei's point of view. That would certainly be fun~


End file.
